Alison Goodman - Eon - Dragoneye Reborn

The crowd was chanting the herald's call for the next candidate, eager for more entertainment.

It was like the baying of blooded dogs. Perhaps they sensed our panic.

The Imperial herald gonged for silence, then called Callan and Swordmaster Ranne to the centre.

'Good fortune,' I whispered to Callan, but although I was directly behind him, he didn't seem to hear. He had sunk into some kind of stiff-limbed terror.

With Callan in the centre, I had a clear view of the arena and Ranne's unrelenting assault on him. There was no subtle slowing of pace, no holding back on the stinging slap of the blade.

Callan was hit so many times, and so hard, that I feared he would fall and not get up. His Heuris was out of his scat, the restraining hands of his neighbours the only thing keeping him from hurling

himself over the Rat Dragon mirror towards his candidate. Lord Ido was drinking wine, every line of his body relaxed, the officials around him silent and upright in subtle disapproval. It was a relief when Callan finally stumbled back to the Une, kneeling with his head down over his swords, his breathing ragged.

Quon was called.

It would not be long now before I was out there.

Quon's opening moves in the Horse Dragon sequence were good, assured. His second form was a faultless defence. I narrowed my eyes, trying to focus on the faces of the darting, twirling figures. Was Jin-pa calling the forms to Quon? It was hard to say, the helmet obscured any detail. The cheers from the crowd acknowledged Quon's deftness as he swung out of the difficult low defence move of the Monkey Dragon Third and into the form's offensive volley of angled neck attacks. He was making a good show. The eruption of approval at the end of his sequence made the dark dragon mirrors shiver against the stone barricades. As he and Jin-pa bowed to the Emperor, I caught a glimpse of the broad smile on his face. His ancestors must have heard his prayers.

The Imperial herald ran back out into the centre, holding their gongs up. The deep note sounded like a death knell.

'Candidate Eon approach the mirrors,' they chanted. 'Face Swordmaster Ranne and show the Rat Dragon your worth.'

The cheering was ragged, covering a low hum of interest. Here comes the cripple. I stood, glad there was no food in my stomach to rise and choke me. I took one tentative step — still no pain in my hip. Perhaps the heat of the sand had eased it. I sent a silent prayer to Charra and Kinra, my ancestors, for strength, skill and endurance. Everything I lacked. A twist of each sword brought them home under my arms, ready for the walk to the centre. I stared at the patch of churned sand. One step at a time and I would get there. Ranne moved in beside me, matching my pace, but I did not look up. One step at a time. The arena was quiet — no stamping, no calls. Only that heavy anticipation before the prey was brought down.

Surely Ranne would not ignore the Council's dispensation.

'Swordmaster, I have —'

'Silence,' he hissed.

For a moment, the arena disappeared into white panic. I stumbled, my focus snapped back by the sudden flare of the moonstones and jade on my hilts. Each gem seemed lighted from within, drawing my eyes into their translucent depths. Something rolled through me.

Power, rising from steel and silver. A lifetime of fighting. An old knowledge.

My mind cleared into pinpoint purpose.

Keep the sun at your back, in his eyes. Distribute your weight evenly. Never cross your feet.

Gauge the combat terrain and look for advantage. Keep your grip open to allow your Hua to flow. Close it, block the Hua, to make a hammer fist.

I looked down at my tightly curled hand. We had never been taught the hammer fist.

Ranne stepped into the combat area, turning to face the Rat Dragon mirror. I followed, my gaze caught for a moment in the shock of seeing my whole self in the glass. Lopsided, thin-boned, with the smooth oval face of a child. Did all these men see a girl-boy standing in front of them? A Moon Shadow? Everyone knew that castration melted the bones and muscles of manhood into soft curves. Yes, this creature in the mirror would pass. Still, it was fortunate that most people glanced away from a cripple.

Except when he was fighting a swordmaster.

Beside me, Ranne bowed. I quickly matched his movement, our reflections showing the absurdity of his armoured bulk next to my slight body. Above the mirror, Lord Ido sat forwards, any pretence of nonchalance gone. I searched the rows behind him and found my master. He was sitting straight, the pale blur of his face tilted towards me.

'Prepare,' Ranne said, taking a position with the sun at his back. He twirled his swords out and around his body in a mesmerising display then dropped the points into the vertical salute.

Keeping my swords tucked under my arms, I shuffled across the small combat area until the sun was to my right. At least Ranne would not have the glare advantage. Underfoot, the sand was kicked and gouged but tightly packed. The outer edges would be loose and treacherous.

'Swordmaster,' I said, watching his eyes narrow behind the helmet slits. 'I have dispensation from the Council to —'

'I know that, Eon-Jah,'he said curtly. 'Get back into position.'

I took a jagged breath. 'This is my position, Swordmaster.'

He snorted. At least I taught you something.' He shifted to face me. 'Let's see if you learned anything else.'

I released my swords, pulling them up into salute. We bowed over our hilts, eyes locked together. Leaning my weight back onto my good leg, I lifted the right sword above my head, stretching the left before me in a straight line aimed at his throat. Ranne mirrored me, his smooth grace fearsome. Both of us poised, watching for a sign: a blink, a glance, an indrawn breath.

It was a blink — a reflex as his outstretched blade swung above his head to twin the other in a wide arc.

The Goat Dragon.

His two swords, angled for slicing, came whirring at my chest. My block was simple: a step of the back leg, a shift of weight, my right sword joining the left in front of me, cutting side slanted down. Ranne's blades hit mine. The impact resonated through my arm bones, the strain forcing a swarm of bright dots across my vision until his steels slid along my angled edges. I pushed down with his momentum, the pain spreading from bones to muscles. He was not pulling his blows. My left sword lifted, freed from engagement. All I had to do was flip the edge and swing at

his throat, but the shock of contact made me slow. I missed the chance — he'd already blocked. I backed away, stabilising my grips. For a moment, the chant of the crowd rose through my concentration. Eon. They were calling for me. I took a deep breath, buoyed by their cheers.

I sidestepped, starting my swords twirling in front of me for the attacking move of the Second Goat Dragon. Instead, Ranne accelerated towards me, his swords high above his head. It wasn't the Second Goat. He was going into Third Horse. I braced, raising my swords just in time. The crashing force of steel against steel pushed me back into the soft edge. Ranne's hilts locked into mine. I dug the side of my foot into the sand, stopping my slide. I lis face was a finger-length from mine, his rank breath hot on my skin.

'That's not the Goat,' I gasped. My back foot was slipping in the loose sand.

'My mistake,' he said.

He jerked his body closer, his whole weight on my hilts, making my hands and arms shake with the pressure. Through the pound of my heartbeat, I heard the crowd start to shout down Ranne. I didn't have enough strength to push back. Any moment my arms would give way.

He'd slam his elbow into my face.

Rat drops to ground.

It was not a voice. It was a deep body knowledge. Somehow my muscle and sinew and bone knew what to do. I fell backwards, pulling my swords with me, turning them in a backhanded sweep that cleared them of Ranne. As I hit the sand, I saw his mouth gape in surprise. A mirror of my own shock. The crowd howled with excitement: the cripple was fighting back.